I Think He Can

On Monday, when I was dropping Love Bug off at daycare, his early intervention therapist was there waiting for him to arrive. She asked to quickly confer with me because the group he has been attending asked to shift him to the morning class to do more assessments with him. “Because he really struggles,” she stated emphatically, “and we really want to get a better idea of his limitations and what services he needs to help him.” I felt like she was trying to convince me, continuing to push her diagnosis as if I am resisting anything she has offered or suggested. Initially, I didn’t believe her suggestion that Love Bug was on the spectrum. But, I have not fought the process, I have not bucked the system trying to officially diagnosis him. I have agreed to what has been suggested and I was agreeing to submit to more “testing” by switching the class. After she spoke to me and I hurried on to work, I thought about how badly I wanted to prove her wrong. Love Bug CAN DO IT! I wanted to scream. He does have difficulties and he does need some accommodations but he is not incapable of doing the things we ask him to do.

 

Sadly, I felt the bitterness of defeat at baseball practice Tuesday night. It was the first outdoor practice at a park. I was feeling frustrated because the team parents and coach want to hold practice early, around 5 or 5:30, making it so hard for us to get there on time. We would not be able to have dinner, since we only get home around 5. I don’t know if it was the tension I was emitting due to the early start time or simply because there were two playgrounds there that Love Bug would rather scramble around on than toss a ball. He hasn’t really been participating in practice, but if he stands with his team, I’m satisfied. Tuesday, he just wasn’t having it. He was stuck on knowing when the practice would end, demanding to see my phone even though he has no concept of time. The end result was us leaving early because he was kicking me, hitting me, throwing sticks at me and starting to act like he would throw sticks at the other parents. He was also screaming. Tears stung my eyes as I felt like raising the white surrender flag. He can’t do it.

 

When I was talking to the mobile therapist last night he said he wasn’t wholly convinced Love Bug presented with ASD behaviors. He saw Oppositional Defiance, maybe ADHD, but he mentioned how Love Bug could manage in situations with a lot of structure. I don’t know if he has made any final conclusions and Love Bug’s evaluation with the therapist isn’t scheduled for a few months, but this confusion is maddening to me. I just want a straight answer. But, with mental health, so many things are more complicated than a simple diagnosis. One positive thought that occurred to me while I was talking to the mobile therapist was to set a timer for Love Bug during practice. It helps him sometimes, to not obsess about the time if he knows an alarm will go off releasing him from his task. So, I will try this next practice. I won’t give up. Love Bug can do it.

Side Hustle

If order to help pay for the new van we got last month, I have become an Uber driver. I took my first run last Friday, thinking it would be a busy night to pick up party-goers and whatnot. It turns out I took the same number of riders in less time Sunday night. I was out again last night and got my first long haul, driving an hour away from my house. I prefer the local rides, in areas I mostly know. The long ride lead to me driving shorter trips in a town I didn’t know. I made decent money, but it was a long night. Last night was the first time nearly all of my riders were chatty. My first night hardly anyone spoke to me and it was a very strange experience. I picked up two couples who clearly had a little too much to drink. They were loud and rambunctious and it was strange to sit quietly and not participate in the revelry. I’ve had a few people (at least one per night) who choose to ride upfront with me. They usually tend to be the chatty ones. I had one man suggest I carry a gun and a woman suggest I get pepper spray. I don’t feel unsafe. I suppose there could be a time I do, but if I drive around afraid I should probably not be doing it.  It is convenient to coordinate with Primero’s schedule, tuck the kids in bed and log onto the app when I choose. I have a set amount I want to earn per week and thus far I have exceeded it. The first few nights it was exhilarating to be out of the house alone at night. Last night was the first night it felt grueling, mostly because I was uncomfortable being so far from home. The sense of not knowing what kind of ride I might get is nerve-wracking because I worry about having to take a very long ride. I’m not sure if there is a way for me to limit that, but maybe I will learn as I go. The rider I took the farthest is a woman originally from Africa. She wanted to be able to hire me, without Uber, to drive her to work. She is a late-night nurse at a hospital. I gave her my number but I don’t think I want to make that drive on a regular basis. I am working towards a goal of 30 rides, which would earn me an additional $30 from Uber. And that’s the story of my side hustle….

Irrational Fear

I have an irrational fear about my family contracting the stomach flu. It makes my heart pound just thinking of dealing with the smells, the sounds, the ick. We have a good track record of never having gotten the stomach flu, but this has me convinced it is eminent. Last Monday, while dropping Love Bug off at daycare, I witnessed a child vomiting everywhere. I cringed, hoping Love Bug could avoid the germs. When I got to work I learned a co-worker was out sick with the stomach flu and the other co-worker informed me he was still getting over it himself, having been sick all weekend. Lysol. Bleach. Containment bubble. Someone save me! As the co-workers spent the next three days regaling me with their tales of gastrointestinal woes, my stomach started to hurt. I sat staring at my computer, the sense of impending doom filling me with dread. But, I assessed my body, telling myself it was mind over matter. My brain was telling me my stomach hurt because my fear was getting to me. Once I told myself my stomach did not hurt, it stopped aching. Thus far (knock on wood) we seemed to have escaped the dreaded stomach bug, but I know our time will come. And nothing will save us!

Just a Fluke

So, Love Bug’s terrific first baseball practice was either a fluke or him exhibiting his best behavior. We’ve had two practices since then and one ended with him screaming in my face while other embarrassed parents looked on. Not my favorite evening, to say the least. This past Saturday, I was tasked with helping at one of the practice stations. Love Bug did the practice once and then lost interest. I didn’t really follow him as he moved to the other stations, but he did come back to be several times, asking to go sit with his sister. Mostly, I just encourage him to stay with his teammates as much as possible. Thus far, besides the yelling, nothing too extreme has happened. He might find practice less tedious when they are able to go outside, which they plan to do this evening. Love Bug does like his coach and he will often times be found standing and holding her hand. He seems impervious to his teammates, not really getting involved in them or what they are doing. Except for one kid who must have an older sibling who practices when Chica Marie practices. They play together when they are not at practice. I tried practicing with Love Bug at the park but he was too distracted by the playground to participate. This will be an interesting season!

All Dogs (and Cats) Go to Heaven

I remember, when I was about 12 years old, having a question and answer session with my parents one evening while driving to the boardwalk on family vacation. I don’t remember all the questions we asked, but some were rather profound and complicated. I do remember asking if our pets went to heaven. My parents suggested we ask our pastor. As distinctly as I remember the dark summer sky filled with sparkling stars, I also remember standing in the stuffy foyer of our tiny church and posing my question to our pastor. And, I also remember how crushed his answer made me feel. “Nothing, according to the Bible, indicates that there will be any animals in heaven,” the pastor responded to my inquiry. I remember feeling the hot rush of tears spring to my eyes and how the stuffy room suddenly felt unbearable. I wanted to protest, “But, didn’t God make the animals too? Why would he abandon them, soulless and dead?” But, twelve year old me simply muttered a defeated thank you and shuffled out the door. Since then, I have decided I don’t really care if there is no evidence in the Bible, I choose to believe our special pets will meet us in heaven in some form or another. They might not have souls like human beings, but they are still deserving of an afterlife because surely anyone who has looked into the eyes of their beloved pet knows they feel love. Last Monday we had to say good-bye to our sweet kitty Pookie. As Primero and I wept together in the vet’s office, I hoped we would see Pookie once again in the great beyond.

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Don't Worry, Be Happy

I wrote about Chica Marie’s first softball practice. Other than getting caught in the rain and looking like a drowned rat, the practice was fine. Love Bug wanted to run around the gym, following the thick black or white lines. But, he stopped when I told him to because he was interrupting the practice (there were three stations and various teams practicing at once). He made a friend. This is one of the reasons I get so perplexed by his coming diagnosis (nothing is official yet – still!). He makes friends easily! He just wandered over to a different section of bleachers and started chatting with a little boy his age. He also talked to the boy’s mother and they watched shows together on the mother’s phone. The little boy is also playing t-ball because we saw him again the next day at Love Bug’s practice. Which is the purpose of this post.

 

I didn’t realize how nervous I was until I marched Love Bug over to the group of little boys and girls. I told him he needed to listen to his coach but I was not leaving and he could come get me if he needed me. Love Bug was reluctant to stay with the group but he didn’t follow me and soon the group was divided and he was helped into a blue pinafore. Love Bug’s team was running races. Love Bug was enthralled with his coach, giving a high-five after his race and one for all of his little teammates. The coach was one of those people you can tell genuinely likes kids. He seemed to be having a blast with the little boys gathered around him and Love Bug warmed up to him quickly. Sadly, this was not the coach for his team, but an assistant coach for another team.

 

Love Bug transitioned easily from his relay task to the next, where they tossed tennis balls into bags representing bases. Love Bug had quite an arm, easily throwing farther than the distance of the base. There was only one brief moment when he came running to me, for a drink of water, and another brief moment where he was lying on the floor spinning in a circle. Mostly, he was enjoying himself! And, when I realized he was not only doing ok, he was having fun, well I was so very happy! I was honestly worried, especially after talking to the early interventionist. She had me thinking this would all be too much for Love Bug, that it would an epic failure from the start (I must say epic too much because Love Bug has started calling things epic….). Love Bug might hit a point where he will struggle, but so will all of his teammates. But, he can do this! He can participate and have fun and he can make friends and, well, I knew this didn’t I? I knew he could, I knew he deserved a chance. Love Bug might be on the autism spectrum but that doesn’t and never should define him. He is an amazing little boy and he is going to have a terrific time playing t-ball. Who cares if he talks more to the adults than his peers? Who cares if he walks off the field to find me for one reason or another? I am going to be team mom, so I will always be there and I can help him if need be, but I think he is going to have more fun without me.

 

I’m anxious for the kids to start practicing outside, once the field thaws and the sunlight lasts longer. It might be more distracting for Love Bug, but I think it will also help him to be more independent from me. I am so happy Love Bug had such a great first practice. And I am glad to not have to worry so much about it.

Getting Caught in the Rain

We need to buy an umbrella. Maybe more than one. Have you ever been caught in the rain for an extended period of time? The last time I remember walking in the rain was when I was in the Peace Corps in Nicaragua and a few of us were walking to visit a volunteer who lived on top of a steep mountain. As we plodded along our ascent, a rain storm blew in and dumped cool rain onto us for about 15 minutes before it passed, leaving the cement pavers steaming. The warm tropical air dried our clothes as we continued walking, so the rain storm was more refreshing than a nuisance. In Nicaragua, I was caught in the rain many times, but being wet didn’t bother me as much, since I knew I would soon be hot and dry again. That was many moons ago, and since them I am not one who tends to spend a lot of time in the rain. I usually just dash from one point to the next, trying to shuffle the kids along as quickly as possible. Friday evening I was not so lucky. Chica Marie had her first softball practice (technically the first was Wednesday, but we were only give a few days’ notice and we couldn’t make it). The day was unseasonably warm, into the 70’s I believe. The practice was held inside the gym of a school I’ve never been to before. There was no parking, so we knew we would be walking a distance. It had been raining but had let up when we were parking. As we started walking, the rain became heavier and then a steady rain, with some thunder (and probably lightening). We dashed inside the school and immediately I knew something was off. They were selling cookies and taking admission. For softball? No, it was a school play. The not-so-helpful staff said we were in the wrong place and the only way to get to the gym was back out in the rain. They gave us crummy directions and we were back into the warm Spring rain. As we trudged around the building the rain washed down our heads and our backs. It splashed up our pant legs and filled our shoes. We finally found the gym, on the backside of the building. Chica Marie faired the best, since she was wearing her winter jacket, which she could take off. Love Bug recently got a haircut and he was wearing light clothing that dried off by the time we were leaving. I was downright miserable in a heavy, wet sweater and squishy, sodden shoes. I started getting chilly as the practice wrapped up and was ever-so happy to get home and slough off the wet clothing and slip into something dry and warm.  

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